This isn't Control
by MorgansGurl
Summary: Short little drabble ficlet exploring a version of some thoughts and emotions of Guy of Gisborne post S2.


_Disclaimer: Not mine – you all know the drill._

_Warning: **spoilers for S2**. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine._

_A/N: I had this little drabble bunny running around in my head for a few days and I decided to get it out. It is titled after and written while listening to MSMR – This Isn't Control. The general style of the way this ficlet was written was inspired by Lady Gisborne 15's - These Silent Words, specifically the first chapter of her fic. There really isn't much more to say about it. Hope you all like it :)_

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_Loyalty. _He valued loyalty as a quality and virtue above all others. It wasn't something he kept a secret, he served dutifully and fully to the whims of the Sheriff even when the man was oft times immature, petty, and unquestionably insane. He valued it more than money and power because neither of those two things could ensure trustworthy followers; with a loyal following one could achieve the unthinkable – the impossible. His loyalty was the one thing no one could ever strip or take away from him, even in his death. It was an honorable trait, even for a dishonorable man. He would die for it, and because of it.

_Hurt. _Often he had stilled himself against pains of the heart. It was easier to carry out his assigned tasks if he didn't feel for them either before, during, or after. Sentimentalities were weakness; feelings were a downfall and could unravel a man even of the strongest conviction. It was easiest to bury those emotions deep into the recess of the darkest pit of the mind, that way pain would be kept at bay. Physical pain was nothing compared to that of the heart, and he knew this, he had been taught this over and over again in his childhood – so he had adapted. With good reason he had built seemingly impenetrable barriers around his heart and feelings, yet brick by brick, day by day, she had torn them down, and for a moment he had believed that maybe his damned soul could have something as pure and beautiful as she. He had allowed himself to feel for her, to yearn for what he perceived she could give him – and now he was hurting for it. Yet again his life lesson had been relearned. He wouldn't make the same mistake _ever_ again.

_Loss._ It was an overwhelming all-consuming encompassing feeling that couldn't be escaped or outrun. It was dark and dreary and lonely, a hole that couldn't be smoothed over or patched. It could drive a man insane. It already drove him to the unfathomable. Loss of what could have been, loss of a redeemable future. The feeling of hot tears on his cheeks were the physical manifestation of that very hurt and loss. It was undeniable, unforgivable, and unbearably empty. He had lost her heart, her loyalty, her love. He had lost _her_. In repayment she had lost her life. Loss so profound could tear what is left of a man's soul apart.

_Betrayal. _It ran deep. Every time she had made him out to be a fool, played his emotions and feelings like a toy until it had broken. Emotions that he had dared to allow himself to experience and had dared show to her so naively. Not once could she truly have questioned his devotion to her, it wasn't something he had concealed from her. It was the worst betrayal, to have the woman he cared for so completely to spit in his face with such blatant disregard. She had said she would rather die than be with him. From her own mouth it was a price she proclaimed to be willing to pay. It was a fitting price for her ghastly betrayal and he had made sure she paid it accordingly. Never again would she trample the heart of a man so carelessly.

_Rage. _It was blinding. Everything in his life felt for naught. Every moment in his miserable isolated existence had brought him to this point of boiling hate. He was going to rage into oblivion and hope with all his might that he would lose himself in the process. He hated the pitiful King Richard, he hated Robin Hood, he hated the Sheriff, he hated himself, and he hated everyone and everything in this world – mostly he hated God. Long ago the man above had abandoned him and showed him no mercy or second thought, so he wouldn't bother to ask forgiveness for his atrocities. He would accept his fate and burn in hell gladly, for all he had endured, for every grievance he had, the devil would surly provide better company. He would rage his way to the fiery depths, all the while keeping a dark smirk on his face.

_Shame. _There weren't many things he was ashamed of. As far as he was concerned he had done everything possible to survive and get ahead in this vile world that had offered him so little. Stealing her life away though, it nagged at what little humanity he had left inside of him. To see the utter disbelieve and desperation on her beautiful features as his sword sliced through her supple flesh haunted his nightmares. The pain reflected back at him in those wide doe eyes as the blood soaked through the fabric of her innocent white dress – she simply wouldn't leave him be. His actions were selfish and shameful, now there was no chance to win her back. Not now, not ever. He and he alone had been the cause of that.

_Love. _Despite everything he still loved her. His heart ached every moment of every day for her tentative touch, her unsure gaze, her fumbled words even if they were lies. He had been truthful when he had admitted his desires for her. She was the very love of his life, the only saving grace he had ever known and yet he had destroyed it with his very existence. Sometimes he wished he had never met the wonderful woman that had melted his cold heart. Perhaps if he hadn't loved her so intensely…but he was an ever selfish man, and despite his love being the cause of her demise he still wouldn't wish to change a thing.

_Freedom._ She wouldn't be waiting for him – no one would be waiting for him. Not on the other side. Not in heaven or in hell. He could accept that, because now he was going to die proud – for once in his life he could truly feel the swell of pride, even as he bled out. The physical pain was inconsequential, it would be over soon. It was the freedom from this petty human life that he craved most now; he would rather be alone on the other side, so long as he was finally free of it. All he could ask for now was peace. Even he knew that it was far more than he deserved.

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